Born of noble state,
Well could he tourney, and in lists debate.--Spenser.
When, as may be remembered, the porter led the knight into the second
hall, our friend Longpole remained in the first, with those of his own
degree; nor was he long in making acquaintance, and becoming intimate
with every one round about, from the old seneschal, who took his place
in the leathern chair by right of immemorial service, to the sucking
serving-man who was hardly yet weaned from his mother's cottage, and
felt as stiffly uncomfortable in his rich livery suit as a hog in
armour, a cat in pattens, or any other unfortunate animal in a garb it
has not been accustomed to. For all, and each, Longpole had his joke
and his quibble; he played with one, he jested with the other, and he
won the hearts of all. In short, every one was in a roar of laughter
when the porter returned from the second hall, followed by one of
those inferior gentlemen who had just found it inexpedient to follow
up his purpose of casting Sir Osborne out. Immediately on entering,
the porter pointed out Longpole to the other, who advanced and
addressed him with a vastly supercilious air, which, however, did not
produce any very awful effect upon the honest fletcher.[4]
"So, fellow," said he, "you are the servant of that gentleman in the
old gray doublet?"
"Yes, your worship, even so," answered Longpole. "My honoured master
always wears gray; for when he is not in gray cloth, he goes in gray
iron; and as to its being old, better an old friend than a new foe."
"And who is your master? I should like to hear," asked the gentleman.
"Lord! does not your worship know?" demanded Longpole, giving a merry
glance round the crowd, that stood already well disposed to laugh at
whatever he should say. "Bless you, sir! my master's the gentleman
that beat Gog and Magog in single fight, slew seventy crocodiles of
the Nile before breakfast, and played at pitch and toss with the cramp
bones of an elephant's hind leg. For heaven's sake, don't anger him:
he'd eat a score such as you at a mouthful!"
"Come, fellow, no insolence, if you mind not to taste the stirrup
leather," cried the other, enraged at the tittering of the menials.
"You and your master both give yourselves too great airs."
"'Ods life, your worship, we are not the only ones!" answered
Longpole. "Every Jack carries it as high as my lord, now-a-days; so
I'll not be out o' the fashion."
"You had better bid your master get a new doublet, then," said the
gentleman of the second hall, with a look of vast contempt.
"That your worship may have the old one?" asked Longpole, slily.
What this might have produced it is impossible to say, for a most
insupportable roar burst from the servants at Longpole's last thrust;
but at that moment the chamberlain entered from the second hall, and
beckoned to the gentleman, who was no other than his cousin.
"Take care what you say, William," whispered he; "that knight, with
whom I find Master Wilmotswood quarrelled about touching the armour,
is some great man, depend on it. The duke sent me away, and then he
embraced him, and hugged him, as he had been his brother; and the old
controller, who saw him go by, nods and winks, as if he knew who he
is, and says that we shall see whether he does not dine at the first
table, ay, and near his grace, too, for all his old gray doublet. Hast
thou found out his name?"
"No," replied the other. "His knave is as close as a walnut, and does
not scruple to break his jests on any one, so I'll have no more of
him."
Their farther conversation was interrupted by a yeoman of the kitchen
presenting himself at the door of the hall, and a cry of "Sewers,
sewers!" made itself heard, giving notice that the noon repast was
nearly ready to be placed upon the table. The scene was at once
changed amongst the servants, and all was the bustle of preparation;
the sewers running to serve the dinner, the yeomen of the hall and the
butler's men making speed to take their places in the banquet room,
and the various pages and servants of different gentlemen residing in
the manor hurrying to wait on their masters at the table.
In the midst of this, our friend Longpole felt some doubt what to do.
Unacquainted with what had passed between his master and the duke, and
even whether the knight had made known his real rank or not, Longpole
did not well know where to bestow himself. "'Ods life!" said he, after
fidgeting for a moment on the thorns of uncertainty, "I'll e'en take
my chance, and go to the chief hall. I can but walk into the next, if
my young master does not show himself soon. Ho! youngster," he
continued to a page he saw running by, "which is the way to the lord's
hall?"
"Follow, follow, quick!" cried the boy; "I'm going there to wait for
my Lord Abergany, and we are too late."
Longpole lost no time, and arrived in the hall at the moment the
controller was arranging the different servants round the apartment.
"Stand you here, Sir Charles Poynder's man; why go you higher than Sir
William Cecil's? Sir William is a banneret. Harry Mathers, you keep
there. You, Jim, by that cupboard. And who are you? Who is your
master, tall fellow?" he continued, addressing Longpole.
"Oh! the gentleman that is with the duke," cried several of the
servants; "the gentleman that is with the duke."
"Why, I know not where he will sit," said the controller; "but wait
about, and stand behind his chair. Now, are yon all ranged? Bid the
trumpets sound."
A loud flourish gave notice to the sewers to serve, and to the various
guests to descend to the hall, when in a few minutes appeared Lord
Abergany and Lord Montague, and one by one dropped in Sir William
Cecil, Sir Charles Poynder, and several other knights, who, after the
various salutations of the morning, fell into groups of two and three,
to gossip out the long five minutes which must pass while the
controller informed the duke that the first dish was placed upon the
table.
In the mean while honest Longpole stood by, too anxious to know the
reception his lord had met with even to jest with those around him;
but instead, he kept examining all the splendid scene, the rich cloth
of estate placed for the duke, the various cupboards of magnificent
plate, the profusion of Venice glasses, and all the princely
furnishing of the hall and table, with feelings nearly allied to
apprehension. At length the voice of the controller was heard crying
"The duke! the duke! Make way there for the duke!" and in a moment
after the Duke of Buckingham entered, leaning with familiar kindness
on the arm of the young knight.
"My Lord Abergany," said the duke, "my son, and you, my Lord Montague,
my excellent good friend, before we fall to the cheer that heaven has
given us, let me introduce to your love this much esteemed knight, Sir
Osborne Maurice, of a most noble stock, and what is better still,
ennobled by his deeds: and now let us to table. Sir Osborne, you must
sit here on my right, so shall you enjoy the conversation of my Lord
Abergany, sitting next to you, and yet I not lose yours. Our chaplain
is not here, yet let some holy man bless the meat. Lord Montague, you
will take my left."
That profound silence now succeeded which ought always to attend so
important an avocation as that of dining, and the whole worldly
attention of every one seemed fixed upon the progress of each dish,
which being brought up in turn to the Duke of Buckingham, first
supplied those immediately around him, and then gradually travelling
down the table from person to person, according to their rank, was at
length carried out by a servant into the second hall, where it
underwent the same perambulation, and was thence transferred to the
third. Here, however, its journeys did not cease; for after having
thus completed the grand tour, and become nearly a finished gentleman,
the remnant was bestowed upon the paupers without.
So different was the order of the dinner from that which we now hold
orthodox, and so strange would it appear to the modern epicure, that
were not such long descriptions insufferably tiresome, many curious
pages might be written to show how a roasted pig, disjointed by the
carvers without, was the first dish set upon the table; and also to
evince the wisdom of beginning with the heavier food, such as beef,
mutton, veal, and pork, and gradually drawing to the conclusion with
capons, herons, pigeons, rabbits, and other more delicate dishes.
However, as our object is to proceed with our history as fast as
possible, we shall not stay to detail the various services, or to
defend antiquity against the prejudices of to-day: suffice it, that so
great was the noble Duke of Buckingham's attention to his new guest,
that Longpole, who stood behind to hand his master drink, threw
forward his chest, and raised his head two inches higher than
ordinary, as if all the stray beams of the great man's favour that
passed by the knight lighted upon himself.
The duke, indeed, strove generously to distinguish his young friend,
feeling that misfortune has much greater claims upon a noble mind than
saucy prosperity. The marks of regard which he gave were such as, in
those days, might well excite the wonder of Lord Abergany, who sat
next to him. He more than once carved for him himself, and twice
invited him to drink; made him notice those dishes which were esteemed
most excellent, and spoke to him far more than was usual during the
course of dinner.
At length the last service appeared upon the table, consisting
entirely of sweets. To use the words of Holingshed: "Gelaffes of all
colours, mired with a variety of representations of sundrie flowers,
herbes, trees, forms of beasts, fish, fowls, and fruits, and thereunto
marchepaines wrought with no small curiosity; tarts of divers heads
and sundrie denominations; conserves of old fruits, foreign and
homebred: sackets, codinals, marmalats, sugar-bread, ginger-bread,
florentines, and sundrie outlandish confections, wherein the sweet
hand of the seafaring Portingal was not wanting."
Now also came the finer sorts of wines: Muscadel, Romanie, and
Caprike; and the more serious part of the banquet being over, the
conversation became animated and interesting. The young knight, as a
stranger to all, as well as from the marked kindness of the duke, was,
of course, a general object of attention; and as the guests easily
judged him a traveller lately returned from abroad, many were the
questions asked him concerning the countries he had seen, and the wars
he had been in.
Tilts and tournaments then became the subject of discourse; and at
length the duke filled high a Venice glass with wine, and calling upon
all to do the like, "Good gentlemen," said he, "'tis seldom that
Buckingham will stint his guests, but this is our last just now, for I
would fain see a lance broken before night. I know not why, but me
thinks those sports and exercises, which are thus undertaken at a
moment's notice, are often more replete with joy than those of long
contrivance; and here is a good knight, who will balk no man of his
humour, when 'tis to strike a strong blow, or to furnish a good
course. Sir Osborne, to your good health, and may all prosperity and
success attend you! Good lords and friends, join me in drinking his
health."
Sir Osborne expressed his willingness to do the duke any pleasure, and
to furnish his course with any knight who thought him worthy of his
lance. "But your grace knows," he continued, "that I have come here
without arms, and that my horse I lost yesterday, as I explained to
you."
"He would fain excuse himself the trouble," said the duke, smiling,
"because we have no fair lady here to view his prowess; but, by
heavens! I will have my will. Surely in my armoury there is a harness
that may suit you, sir knight, and in my stables a steed that will
bear you stoutly. My Lord of Montague, you are unarmed too; quick to
the armoury and choose you arms. Sir Osborne shall maintain the field,
and furnish two courses against each comer. We have not time for more;
and the horse and harness which the good knight wears shall be the
prize. Ho! call here the armourer. He is a Fleming, most expert, and
shall choose your suit, Sir Osborne."
All now rose, and Lord Montague proceeded to the armoury to choose his
arms; while the duke, taking Sir Osborne and Lord Abergany into one of
the recesses, spoke to them apart for some moments, the effect of
which, as it appeared, was, that the duke's kinsman embraced the young
knight heartily. While they were still speaking, the armourer
appeared, and with a low reverence approached the duke.
"Billenbach," said the duke, "thou hast an excellent eye, and canst
see to the size of a straw that a harness be well adjusted. Look at
this good knight, and search out amongst the finest suits in the manor
one that may be convenient for him."
"'Tis a damage, your grace," replied the armourer, with the sort of
bow a sledge-hammer might be supposed to make. "'Tis a great damage
that you are not at Thornbury, for there is the armour that would have
well harnessed him. The gelt armour that is all engrailed with gelt;
made for a tall man and a strong, such as his worship: very big upon
the chest. Then there is the polished suit up stairs, which might suit
him, but I doubt that the greaves be long enough, and I have taken
away the barbet and volant from the head-piece to give more light, and
'twould take much time to fasten them on. There are none but the ten
suits in the second hall: one of the tallest of them might do; but
then they are for your grace's own wear;" and he looked inquiringly at
the duke, as if he doubted whether he might not have offended by
mentioning them.
"Nay, nay, thou art right, Billenbach!" exclaimed the duke; "the
fluted suit above all others! I am sure it will do. Call thy men, and
fetch it here; we will arm him amongst us."
The armourer obeyed; and in a few minutes returned with his men
bearing the rich suit of fluted armour which had attracted the
knight's attention in the hall. "Ha! Sir Osborne," said the duke, "do
you remember this armour? You were present when it was won; but yet
you were too young for that gay day to rest on your memory."
"Nay, my good lord, not so," replied the knight; "I remember it well,
and how gallantly the prize _was_ won. I doubt not it will fit me."
"I feel full sure of it," said the duke, "and that you will fit it,
for a better harness was never worn; and Surrey says, and I believe,
there never was a better knight. Come! let us see; first, for the
greaves. Oh, admirable! Does the knee move free? But I see it must.
Now the corslet: that will fit of course. How, fellow! you are putting
the back piece before! The breast-plate! The breast-plate!"
"This brassard is a little too close," said the knight. "If you loosen
that stud, good armourer, 'twill be better."
"'Tis padded, good sir, near the elbow," said the man; "I will take
out the padding. Will your worship try the headpiece? Can you see when
the barbet is down?"
"Well enough to charge my lance," said the knight. "These arms are
exquisite in beauty, my lord duke, yet very light."
"There are none stronger in the world," said the duke, "and therein
lies the excellence. Though so light that one moves in them more
freely than in a coat of goldsmith's work, yet they are so well
tempered, both by fire and water, and the juice of herbs, that the
sword must be of fine steel indeed that will touch them."
"One may see it by the polish that they keep," said the knight. "In
each groove one may view oneself in miniature, as in a mirror. They
are very beautiful!"
"You must win them, my young soldier," whispered the duke. "Abergany
has gone to arm, with Cecil and Montague; but I know their force. And
now for the horses. The strongest in my stable, with his chanfron,
snaffle-bit, manifaire, and fluted poitrel (which I have all, point
device corresponding with the suit), goes along as part of the prize.
Billenbach! take the casque, put a little oil to the visor, and bring
it to the lawn of the Four Oaks. See that the other gentlemen be told
that we render ourselves there, where this knight will answer all
comers on horseback, and I will judge the field. Send plenty of light
lances; and as we have not time to put up lists, bid the porter bring
seven men with staves to mark the space."
Thus saying, the duke led the way towards the stable, speaking to the
knight, as they went, of various matters which they had not discussed
in the morning, and making manifold arrangements for concentrating all
sorts of interest to produce that effect upon the mind of the king
which might lead to the fulfilment of Sir Osborne's hopes. Nor to the
Duke of Buckingham, who was well acquainted with the character of
Henry, did the plan of the young knight seem unlikely to be
successful. The sort of diffidence implied by concealing his name was
that thing of all others calculated to win the monarch's good-will;
and there was also a kind of romantic and chivalrous spirit in the
scheme altogether, that harmonised well with the tastes of the king,
who would fain have revived the days of the Round Table, not contented
with even the wild, adventure-loving character of the times: and yet,
heaven knows! those who read the history of the Chevalier Bayard, and
the memoirs of Fleurange, will find scenes and details recorded of
those days which the novelist dare not venture to portray.
Only one thing made the duke anxious in regard to his young _protége_:
the vast splendour and magnificence of the court of England. He saw
that the knight, accustomed alone to the court of Burgundy, where
merit was splendour, and valour counted for riches, was totally
unaware of the thoughtless expense required by Henry. Sir Osborne had,
indeed, informed him that in London he expected to receive from a
Flemish merchant the ransom of a knight and three esquires, amounting
in all, together with the value of their arms, to about three thousand
French crowns, which the duke well knew would little more than pay for
the bard and base[5] of his first just; and yet he very evidently
perceived it would be difficult to prevail upon him to accept of any
purely pecuniary assistance, especially as he had no time to lay a
plan for offering it with any very scrupulous delicacy: Sir Osborne
purposing to depart after the beverage, or three o'clock meal.
"Now, Osborne," said the duke familiarly, after they had seen their
horses properly accoutred, and were proceeding towards the place of
rendezvous; "now you are once more armed at all points, and fit to
encounter the best knight in the land; but we must have that tall
fellow who serves you armed too, as your custrel, and mounted; for as
you are a knight, and certainly errant, I intend to put you upon an
adventure; but here come the counterparty. No one but Cecil will run
you hard. I last year gave a harness and a purse of a thousand marks
as a prize, which Cecil had nearly won from Surrey. But you must win!"
"I will do my best, your grace," replied the knight, "both for the
honour of your grace's friendship, and for this bright suit, which in
truth I covet. To break two spears with all comers? I think your grace
said that was my task. And if I keep the field with equal success
against all----"
"Of course you win the prize," interposed the duke. "And if any other
gentleman make as good points as yourself, you furnish two more
courses with him to decide. But here we are. Well, my lords, the
horses will be here before the ground be marked. I stand by, and will
be an impartial judge."
It is not easy to imagine, in these times, how the revenues of that
age could support the nobles in the sort of unbounded expense in their
houses which has made _Old English hospitality_ a proverbial
expression; but it is nevertheless a certain fact, that from fifty to
sixty persons commonly sat to dinner each day in the various halls of
every wealthy peer. The boards of those who, like Buckingham,
maintained a more than princely splendour, were generally much better
furnished with guests; and when he looked round the spot that had been
appointed for their morning's amusement, and beheld not more than a
hundred lookers-on, all of whom had fed at his own tables, he felt
almost disappointed at the scantiness of spectators. "We have more
guests at Thornbury," said he; "and yet, porter, you do not keep the
ground clear. Gentlemen, these four oaks are the bounds; I pray you do
not come within. Here are our chargers."
The fine strong horse which Buckingham had chosen for the young knight
was now led up, harnessed as if for war; and before mounting, Sir
Osborne could not refrain from walking round to admire him, as he
stood pawing the ground, eager to show his speed. The young knight's
heart beat high, and laying his left hand on the neck, he sprang at
once from the ground into the saddle; while the very clang of his new
armour, and the feeling of being once more equipped as he was wont,
gave him new life, and hope, and courage.
Ordered by a whisper from the duke, the groom beckoned Longpole from
the ground, and the armourer, taking the shield and lance, presented
them to the young knight at the end of the course. A note or two was
now sounded by the trumpet, and Lord Abergany offered himself on
horseback opposite to Sir Osborne, who paused a moment to observe if
he charged his lance at the head-piece or the shield, that, out of
compliment to the duke's relation, he might follow his example.
"Spur, spur, Sir Osborne!" cried the duke, who stood near; "Abergany
comes."
The knight struck his spurs into the charger's sides; the horse darted
forward, and the spear, aimed low, struck the fess point of Lord
Abergany's shield, and splintered up to the vantplate in Sir Osborne's
hand; at the same moment Lord Abergany's broke upon the young knight's
breast; and suddenly wheeling their chargers, they regained the
opposite ends of the lawn.
The second lance was broken nearly in the same manner; with only this
difference, that Sir Osborne, having now evinced his respect for his
opponent, aimed at the head-piece, which counted a point more.
Lord Montague now succeeded, laughing good-humouredly as he rode
towards his place, and bidding Sir Osborne aim at his head, for it
was, he said, the hardest part about him. The knight did as he was
desired, and broke his spear twice on the very charnel of his helmet.
It being now Sir William Cecil's turn, each knight charged his spear
directly towards the other's head, and galloping on, both lances were
shivered to atoms.
"Gallantly done! gallantly done!" cried the Duke of Buckingham, though
he began to feel some little anxiety lest the knight banneret might
carry off the prize, which he had fully intended for Sir Osborne.
"Gallantly done! to it again, gentle knights."
The spears were now once more delivered, and setting out as before,
each struck the other's head-piece; but Sir William Cecil's, touching
obliquely, glanced off, while that of Sir Osborne was again
splintered.
"Give me your voices, gentlemen all!" cried the duke, turning to the
spectators. "Who has the day? Sir Osborne Maurice, I say."
"Sir Osborne! Sir Osborne!" cried a dozen voices; but one person, no
other than he who had thought fit to quarrel with the knight about
touching the very armour he now wore, could not forbear vociferating
the name of Sir William Cecil, although, fearful of the duke's eye, he
took care to keep back behind the rest while he did so.
"Some one says Sir William Cecil!" cried the duke, both surprised and
angry. "What say you yourself, Sir William?"
"I say, Sir Osborne Maurice," replied the banneret surlily, "because
my lance slipped; but had it not, I think I should have unseated him."
"He is not easily unseated," said the duke, "if report speak true.
However, the prize is yours, Sir Osborne. Yet, because one voice has
differed from my judgment, if you two knights will furnish one more
course for my satisfaction, I will give a thousand marks for the best
stroke."
"Your grace knows that I must soon depart," said Sir Osborne; "but,
nevertheless, I am quite willing, if this good knight be so, for I am
sure his lance slipped merely by accident."
"Oh! I am very willing!" cried Sir William Cecil, somewhat sharply. "A
thousand marks, your grace says?"
"Ay, sir," replied the duke, "I do."
"'Tis a tough prize!" cried Sir William; "so give me a tough ash
spear."
"To me the same!" cried Sir Osborne Maurice, not exactly pleased with
the tone of his opponent. "'Tis for the best stroke."
At this moment Longpole appeared, completely armed by Buckingham's
command, as a custrel, or shield-bearer; and hearing his master's
demand, he searched amongst the spears till he met with one that his
practised eye, long used in his quality of fletcher, or arrow-maker,
to select the hardest woods, instantly perceived was excellent, and
bore it himself to the knight. The trumpet sounded; both galloped
forward, and Sir William Cecil's lance, aimed as before at the
knight's casque, struck hard: but Sir Osborne was as immoveable as a
rock; and though of firm, solid wood, the spear shivered. Not so Sir
Osborne's; borne forward by a steady, unerring hand, it struck Sir
William Cecil's head-piece just under the crest, wrenched away the
crest and plume, and still catching against the ironwork, bore him
backwards upon the croupiere, and thence with his horse to the ground;
for though Sir Osborne pulled in his rein as soon as he could, it was
not before the weight of his charger had overborne that of his
opponent, and thrown him far back upon his haunches.
The servants of Sir William ran up to disentangle him; and finding him
considerably hurt by the fall, they bore him away to his apartments in
the manor.
In the mean while the duke and his friends were not scanty of the
praises which they bestowed upon the young knight; and indeed there
might be some sensation of pleasure at Cecil's overthrow, mingled with
their approbation of Sir Osborne; for though a good soldier and an
honourable man, the banneret was overbearing in society with his
equals, and insupportably proud towards those of an inferior rank, so
that all the servants winked to each other as he was borne past,
taking no pains to conceal their pleasure in his humiliation.
"I am sorry that Sir William Cecil is hurt," said the knight,
springing off his horse: "On, Longpole, after his men, and discover
what is his injury."
"'Tis no great matter," said Lord Abergany, "and it will do Cecil no
harm that his pride is lowered; for in truth, he has lately become
beyond all endurance vain. He spoke of quelling the mutiny of the
shipwrights at Rochester as if his single arm were capable of doing
more than Lord Thomas and all his company. Well, fellow!" he continued
to Longpole, who now returned, "what hurt has Sir William?"
"Why, please your lordship," replied he, "he is neither whole beaten
nor whole strangled, but a little of both; for his casque has proved a
cudgel, and given him a bloody nose; and his gorget a halter, and half
hanged him."
"A merry knave!" said the duke. "Come, Sir Osborne, half-an-hour still
rests before our beverage; that you shall bestow upon me, when you
have taken off your casque. Gentlemen, amuse yourselves till three,
when we will rejoin you in the hall."
Thus saying, the duke again led the way to his closet, and concluded
all his arrangements with the young knight with the same generosity of
feeling and delicacy of manner which had characterised all the rest of
his conduct towards him. The prize Sir Osborne had won he paid to him
as a mere matter of course, taking every means to conceal that it had
been offered merely that he might win it. But he also exacted a
promise, that whenever the young knight was in London, he would use
his beautiful manor-house of the Rose, in St. Lawrence Pountney, as if
it were his own, and furnished him with a letter which gave him
therein unlimited command over whomsoever and whatsoever it contained.
"And now," continued Buckingham, "let us speak, my young friend, of
the means of introducing you to the king, without my appearing in it,
for I am not well beloved of the butcher-begotten cardinal. My cousin,
the abbot of the Benedictines, near Canterbury, writes me this morning
that his sister, the lady abbess, a most holy and devout woman, has
with her, even now, a young lady of high station, a woman of the
queen's, one Mistress Katherine Bulmer, who has lately been there to
visit and cheer her relation the abbess, who has somewhat suffered
from a black melancholy that all her holy piety can hardly cure; and
also, as he hints, perhaps to tame down the young damsel's own light
spirits, which, it may be, soar a pitch too high. However, the time
has come that the queen calls for her lady, and the abbess must send
her back; but this mutiny of the shipwrights at Rochester puts the
good devotees in fear; and they must needs ask me, with an '_if I be
sending that way_,' to let the lady journey to the court at Greenwich
under escort of any of my retainers or friends. If you undertake the
charge, our most excellent Queen Katherine will surely give you her
best thanks, and make you know the king; and the mutiny of the
shipwrights, who are still in arms, will be a full reason and excuse
why you should ride armed. Three of my servants shall accompany you.
Say, does this proposal please you? Will you accept it?"
"With many thanks!" replied the knight. "Your grace is ever kind and
thoughtful for your poor friend's good."
"Your father once saved my life," answered the duke, "and I would
almost give that life again to see him what he was. See, here is the
letter to the lord abbot. Let us now back to our friends, or they will
think we are plotting treason. Do you favour the bad habit of
beverages? No? then we will drain one cup ere you mount, and bid you
farewell."
The duke now led to the hall, called for a cup of wine, and then
pledging the young knight, together with Lord Abergany and Lord
Montague, conducted him to his horse, notwithstanding the opposition
which he made to so marked an honour.
"'S life!" cried Lord Montague, seeing him still armed: "Are you going
to ride in harness? Three of his grace's servants armed too! Why you
are surely going to deliver some captive damsel from the power of a
base ravager."
"Your lordship is not far wrong," replied the knight, springing on his
horse. "But as it is a secret adventure put upon me by the noble duke,
him you must ask if you would hear more."
"Oh, the history! the history! I pray thee, most princely Buckingham?"
cried Lord Montague. "But the knight gallops off with his fellow, whom
he calls Longpole; but I doubt me much that both Longpole and Osborne
Maurice at times bear other names. Ha! my lord duke? Well, well! Keep
your secret; nothing like a little romance. He seems a noble heart,
whoever he be."
With this speech the whole party turned into the mansion; the
generous-hearted duke congratulating himself on having thus found
means to furnish his old friend's son with money and arms, and laying
still farther plans for rendering him more extensive and permanent
service, and the two lords very well pleased with the little
excitement which had broken in upon the sameness of their usual
morning amusements.